


The Unrelenting Sea

by TheWorkoftheHeart



Series: Papa Zeff and the Little Eggplant [5]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sanji Is Not A Vinsmoke, i swear to fucking god, zeff's a good dad to his lil boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWorkoftheHeart/pseuds/TheWorkoftheHeart
Summary: The sound of crashing waves, rippling hundreds of feet below. Unrelenting, they sing their songs of sorrow, the howls of the dead being carried by their oceanic voice. There’s a hunger there, with the ocean lapping at the rocks like a starving dog, trying to reach for the last strings of food, of life, that hides so far from them.The waves aren’t the only thing that’s starving.
Series: Papa Zeff and the Little Eggplant [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715152
Comments: 10
Kudos: 122





	The Unrelenting Sea

_The sound of crashing waves, rippling hundreds of feet below. Unrelenting, they sing their songs of sorrow, the howls of the dead being carried by their oceanic voice. There’s a hunger there, with the ocean lapping at the rocks like a starving dog, trying to reach for the last strings of food, of life, that hides so far from them._

_The waves aren’t the only thing that’s starving._

_Days? Months? Years? Time blurs together, nonexistent here. The tallies in the stone are meaningless. If anything, they’re only ridges in a coffin, like nails scratching desperately for an escape._

_Is that what those tallies are? An escape? How cruel._

_He’s starving, the pain in his stomach is immeasurable. He feels like he’s going to be sick, but he won’t even know what will happen then. Is it even possible for him to? Will doing so little as getting sick be the very thing that kills him? Cruel fate; he can’t die in a matter like that. He still has to find it. He still has to find the All Blue, even if it kills him--_

_There’s a ship on the horizon. He can see it, flags waving, ocean wind blowing; it carries the songs of sailors, finally, a savior has come to get them! Maybe there is a god that’s listened, sending them someone, their last resort! On wobbling knees, he stands, cupping two frail hands around his mouth--_

_And he’s falling. His knees buck under him and he’s tumbling, his stomach screaming as desperately as he is. His attempts to claw at the rock were for naught, and he’s falling. He watches the ship as he tumbles down, down, down, and with the last bout of energy he has, he screams,_

“Help me!”

It’s those words that knock Sanji upwards in his bed, his throat raw from screaming, his face wet from crying. He trembles uncontrollably and he can’t see through his tears; it felt so real again. He could feel the scorching heat, the blisters, the starvation, the desperation- it felt like a nightmare he couldn’t escape from. At least, thank God, it was only a dream this time, and not his plaguing reality.

The door to his room flew open in an instant, and Zeff’s silhouette stands in the doorway, illuminated only by the cigar between his teeth. His eyes trail Sanji’s room, searching for an intruder or a cause for alarm, and his shoulders relax when he sees there is none. 

“‘Ya damn brat,” he mumbles, pressing a hand to his temple. “‘Ya scared the devil out of me screaming like tha-”

Sanji’s crying is finally audible. His eyes settle on the boy sitting upright in his bed, head curled into a pillow that’s resting on his knees, shoulders trembling, sobs escaping. It’s been so long since he’s heard the boy cry in desperation like that. From that alone, he knows all too well the nightmares he’s experienced. The nightmares that leave your skin burning, your body aching, your mind racing. Nightmares that leave you starving.

He makes his way inside the room and sits on the edge of Sanji’s bed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He moves one arm to place a hand on the kid’s back, feeling him tremble under the hold, like a tattered ship’s flag in the hand of a broken sailor. His face softens, as does his voice.

“Are you okay, Sanji?”

Blue eyes peek up from the caverns of his pillow. They’re overflowing with hot crystalline tears. He shakes his head.

“Are you hungry?”

Sanji hesitates, pressing his head back down into his pillow for a moment. When he looks up again, he sets the pillow aside, nodding with his cheeks scrunched up to his face as another round of desperate sobs takes hold of him. “Papa--”

Zeff makes an acknowledging hum, pulling his son into his arms and resting him on his hip. He holds him close, but like Sanji was ever planning to let go in the first place; he’s terrible with comfort, but he knows it’s not necessary for him to speak at all. He slips onto his feet and exits Sanji’s bedroom, using his hand to trail the wall and find the staircase in the center of the ship. From there, it’s a steady path down into the kitchen- he could find that room as easily as he could find the backs of his own hands. He pushes the door open with his back, hands occupied holding Sanji and rubbing his back softly. Zeff leans against the open door as he gently kicks upward, flipping the lightswitch on for the room. Bright industrial light sets the tone of the room, and Sanji looks up from where his head was buried in his father’s nightshirt.

Zeff moves methodically around the kitchen, carefully grabbing pans, pots, whisks. He opens the fridge and mumbles ingredients, and Sanji leans forth to grab them, the cold gust as he pulls out eggs, salmon, and milk cooling the trails of wet tears that soaked his face. Once the ingredients are all lined on the countertops, Sanji rubs his face with the sleeve on his arm.

He watches his father cook, silent and careful, occasionally moving to grab other ingredients he either neglected to grab or sporadically thought the meal would need. He watches oil glaze the pan, the eggs sputter in the newfound heat, the spatula move them around for an even sear on one side. The tears have stopped now, and he just watches. There’s something therapeutic about his father’s cooking.

“Papa?” Sanji asks, and he’s hardly audible over the omelette being flipped in the pan, yet Zeff hears it well. He offers a grunt in response, and Sanji wipes his eyes again. “I-I’m sorry I woke you up...”

“Pah, don’t even fret about it,” Zeff replies, drizzling in some shredded cheese with his free hand before moving over to finish cooking the vegetables in the other pan. “I get ‘em too, it’s not just your battles t’ fight.”

Sanji turns to look at him better. “The nightmares?” 

Zeff nods, pulling the pan off the heat and pouring the chopped peppers and onions over the eggs. “Yep. Get ‘em all the time. Don't apologize for being shuttered awake like that, okay? Y’er a sailor now. Sailors take the wind as it comes, and sometimes, that means acknowledin’ you get a little scared.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Zeff’s spatula turns over the omelette, folding it neatly. He takes the pan off the heat and sets it on the plate with the cooked salmon before placing Sanji on the stool in front of it. He pours his son a glass of water and puts it beside the plate, and watches as he digs in, not wanting to leave a single scrap behind.

_“Captain, do you think those two will be okay?”_

_Zeff could hear their words over the table, hunched over his meal; his eyes felt heavy and he felt dizzy, but he needed to eat. It was his first meal in days, weeks, perhaps months, he didn’t know. He could hear the clinks of his own fork and the grinding of a knife from the runt beside him, so battered he could hardly bring the strength to cut his own food in half without the help of one of the generous chefs._

_“Yes, sir. I think so. They’ll just need a little time.”_


End file.
